


Christmas Sweaters

by TORUKAisJUSTICE



Series: 25 Days of ToruKa Christmas [11]
Category: ONE OK ROCK
Genre: M/M, Sweaters, Toruka - Freeform, lots and lots of swearings, swearings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 04:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16947261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TORUKAisJUSTICE/pseuds/TORUKAisJUSTICE
Summary: day 11 of 25daysofToruKaChristmas





	Christmas Sweaters

**Author's Note:**

> Lame motherfuckuers gahahahahaha
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Taka rarely sew clothes, he buys them, yes but to actually stitch something up? _Nah._ Not in his wildest dreams.it is a _mundane task and time-consuming_ , and with his seemingly short patience for everything, he won't be able to take it nor finish it. But one fine day in November, when they're still on their day off, Taka saw a nice hand-knitted swear that falls under the categorty of perfect gift for your loved ones or someshit.

Taka was probably damned bored— _or drunk_ —by then because he peered to the screen, moving his phone closer to his puffy eyes and stare at the seemingly satisfied look of the boyfriend on the photo. Suddenly, the face of the man was replaced by Toru-san's smugly smirking face—okay, maybe he's _drunk, tipsy or what the fuck ever_ really—and oooh did Taka's heart made a complete jump at that. Okay, he'll do that. If those...girlfriends can do that handmade Christmas sweaters, then Taka could do that too. _Nothing is impossible_ , his drunk mind thought, his fingers hovering over the add to cart button. He needs this...nice sewing kit and manual and all the shits to make the pretty sweater so yeah. He sniffed, clicking the checkout button and laid back on his couch with a happy, hopeful smile on his face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Unfortunately, that hopeful smile didn’t lasted for more than a day since he received the said nice sewing kit. Taka has spent minutes staring at the goddamned needles and strings, wondering how the fuck he'll make a sweater out of these strings.

_Maybe he made a mistake._

But no, the optimistic part of his brain said _, the cover says that you could make those cute looking sweaters from these._ Taka glanced at the cover. There's a man wearing the sweater on it indeed. Huuuh. Don't you want to see Toru wearing that?

Of course he does.

_So, get a grip, you wimpy shit and get your hands working!_

 

 

And so, Taka started working—almost _stabbin_ g himself for a few times before he managed to get the gist. It was easy—really, he huffed, as if he wasn't strangled by the strings earlier as he tried to detangle them—but it takes a lot of time. _Really, really lots of time._

"I told you I'm busy!" he snapped at Toru who’s knocking on his bedroom door. The idiot was here to drop some of the early copies of their newest album, so that they could listen to it one more time before they drop the singles in the next few days, but Taka doesn’t want the man going anywhere near his sweater! “Go away!”

There was a sharp intake of breath behind the door. Toru probably had swallowed his tongue in shock or something before he finally growled out, “But _you’re the one_ who asked me to drop by and bring these copies! Are you that old to forget that?!”

Taka let out a horrified gasp—his lover knows better than to bring the topic of aging—because Taka was _dead sensitive_ about it and here he is, casually dropping the _o-l-d_ word like that!

“I’m not old!” and you’re not gonna be having dinner tonight, you fucking bastard!

“Uh-huh?” there was a rustling of clothes, Toru must’ve crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head in a challenging manner, his lips curled up with that smirk that can make anyone go jelly in a matter of seconds, “What’s next? You’re gonna knit sweaters like an old granny too?”

Taka’s first thought was—

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—he knows—he fucking knows I’m knitting a goddamned sweater for him!_

And then—

“I’M NOT OLD!!!” he screeched, banging on the door—which could’ve been the guitarist’s face, really, if he wasn’t just that adamant on not letting the man to see his knitting stuffs…and prove that…he’s an…old…person… _knitting…._

“AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” he yelled, gripping his hair in his attempt to pull all the strands from his scalp, “I’M NOT OLD, YOU OSSAN! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S OLD, YOU GEEZER, ZOMBIE-LOOKING, BASTARD—,”

“You’re older than me—,”

“—WHO LOVES FUCKING YOUNG-LOOKING MAN WHO CALLS YOU _DADD—_ ,” Taka instantly clamped his mouth shut at that. He was heaving, his chest rising up and down, and his brain is just a spark from short-circuiting—because there’s no way in hell that he had just said that very confidential, _“stuffs-you-can-only-say-in-the-bedroom-or-in-the-airplane-toliet”_ thing.

“…what was that Taka?”

Taka glared at the door, as if the poor piece of wood has just offended his entire clan or something—good thing the bastard didn’t heard that shit—before he kicked it, “Just go away for now, you dumb Gachapin!” he said, ignoring as the man struggled really hard to open the door.

Taka padded towards the corner of his room where he’s doing all the sewing/knitting stuffs. The sweater is almost finished, it’s bigger—which was intentional, because Toru-san is obviously bigger than him—and he just needs to secure the loose ends at the hem. He stared at the pool of strings, the huge needles, the sweater and sighed— _they’re ugly._

_Totally horrendous piece of shit._

It’s also red.

_Red horrendous piece of shit, then._

But he doesn’t wanna throw it away, he has spent days doing this and had gotten a shit-ton of pricks on his fingers—and he really, really wants the guitarist to try it on. And if he doesn’t like it _, I’ll just burn it or use it as a rag or something._ He narrowed his eyes as he plopped down on the floor couch and resumed his knitting activities, and if he started mocking me for doing this _, I’ll just gag him with this uglyass sweater, I swear!_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was their last day in Japan when Taka finally had the balls to give the sweater to the guitarist. It was long gone, but then again, it was shitty and ugly so he decided to just put it in the farthest, darkest corner of his closet until he has totally forgotten about it.

He would probably keep on forgetting about the creepy sweater, if that _red abomination_ didn’t just showed in his dreams, strangling him for being such a negligent father, then there was Toru-san’s crying disappointed— _okay, I know, it’s a creepy dream, remember?!—_ face and Taka was suddenly wide awake, springing up from the bed as if it was made of lava and jumping towards his closet. Never mind the fact that he was stark naked aside from his boxers, never mind the fact that Toru-san is already starting to wake up— _he’s also kinda naked, by the way_ —and glaring at everything because he hates morning and he hates it when Taka is already running around with great…energy and enthusiasm.

He flung the doors open and started rummaging through it—he would fix his mess later, what’s more important is to look for the sweater and— _A-ha!_

He grinned in triumph as h held out the red sweater. He frowned. _It still ugly as fuck._

But he needs to give this to the guitarist—who was softly asking him if he’s alright and that he should come back to bed now—or else, the hideous red sweater would haunt his dreams. Forever.

So with renewed strength, Taka wobbled back to the bed, crumpling the sweater onto his chest. Toru was watching him, the idiot is already sitting up, his back is propped on the headrest, the sheets pooling on his waist. He was looking at him wild mild irritation, mild confusion and mild worry because Taka rarely jumps out of the bed like that—except when he’s really about to hurl all the contents of his stomach after a night of drinking.

“What’s wrong?”

He was pulled out of his _not-so good memories_ of facing the sink and his dinner at the rough voice of his lover. Taka wasn’t a virgin, far from it actually, but he still blushed like a motherfucking tomato at the intense gaze the leader is giving him. He clutched the crumpled sweater for his dear life, face as bright as the red traffic light, before he started spitting out words.

“I—I have something for you and if you laugh at it, I’ll fucking kick you out of my house,” he said without breathing, before he added, “ _Naked_.”

Instead of getting intimidated by his madly blushing lover, Toru-san just cocked an eyebrow at him, “Uhm, okay?”

Okay. Taka roughly exhaled. He said okay. He won’t laugh. And Taka won’t have to kick this asshole out of his house. And then even before he could chicken out, he was already hurling the goddamned sweater on the guitarist’s face—taking advantage of that sudden assault, Taka jumped onto the bed and hid under his blanket like a kid.

He shivered under the thick fabric for a long, praying that the earth—or in his case _, the bed—_ would just open up and swallow him whole, especially when the awkward silence stretched to minutes, before the blanket of warmth and comfort and security against the cruel, harsh reality was abruptly snatched away from him—

“Hey!” he snapped looking at the man who’s looking at him with a confused frown marring his sleepy face.

“Hey, you,” he blandly said, “you’re giving me something and you just hid like that? What are you, a five—,”

“I’m not old!”

“—in front of his crush or something?”

Taka snorted at that, “I’m a 30-year old man in front of my lover or something,” he grumbled out before he snatched back the blanket and wrapped it around his shoulder.

“Oh, okay…” Toru-san smirked before he laid out the sweater, “So you’re uh, _uhm,_ giving me a… _uh_ …” he stuttered and oh did Taka wants to punch something hard and pretty—namely Toru-san’s face—for that obvious loss of words, “…you’re giving me a _rag—_ ,”

“How,” Taka’s nostrils flared in indignation at that, “Dare. You?! That’s a sweater, you blind, dumb idiot!”

Toru’s wide eyes were already saying “A what?!” even if he’s not saying anything at all.

And that’s a cue for Taka to snatch the ugly clothes and aggressively put it on the still shell-shocked guitarist—lift up your arms, you big baby! —and pulled it down the muscular body. He nodded in determination and success as he ogled the man, but still—

“It looks like shit,” he morbidly announced as he sat back on his haunches, a look of complete defeat and disappointment etched on his face.

Toru took a glance at himself, fiddling with the sweater before looking up at him, “But you’re the one who made this!”

“I know!” he snapped and clutched the blankets. Damn, he wants to curl up and sleep right now, screw the fucking flight tonight, he needs his pride to recuperate for a little bit, “It’s not your fault, you’re still good-looking as fuck, Toru, it’s just my non-existent knitting skills that made this a…colossal failure or something.”

The guitarist stared at him before he looked down on the sweater again. Maybe he’s thinking on a thousand ways of burning and shredding it, but Taka doesn’t really care anymore, but it still hurts like shit when the guitarist hastily pulled the sweater of his body.

“I’m really thankful—,” Taka glared at the younger man, “For this, really. I know you hate doing these stuffs, but seriously, I think there’s a better use for this sweater of yours…” he said, smirking devilishly down at him.

Taka eyed him warily, like a prey going in circles with his predator, “…what…?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> here's the [fanart~!](https://www.instagram.com/p/BrPCIvzHLRf/)


End file.
